


Arrival of the Birds

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Children, Friendship, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied Relationships, Love Confessions, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Parenthood, Polyamory, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Regret, Sexual Content, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The call had started like any other. He was in the kitchen, he still remembered the scent of the tomato soup he was making. West behind him, going endlessly on about something in his clear child's voice, bare feet tapping the floor, tap tap tap tap, and the sound of Vicki turning the newspaper's page by the table.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>From that moment on, it was unlike any other phone call Misha had ever received.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival of the Birds

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I feel _so_ dirty now but - but JIBcon happened and I was really, really, really inspired by various stuff and my happy fiction didn't work so, um, this is the result. I take the blame this time. I mean, I can't run from it forever.
> 
> Named after [a song by Cinematic Orchestra.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqoANESQ4cQ) The Crimson Wings soundtrack played a major part in writing this fic, namely the two songs in the link, Arrival of the Birds and Transformation.

 

**Prologue**

 

"Hey, Jared, what's up?"

The call had started like any other. He was in the kitchen, he still remembered the scent of the tomato soup he was making, the orange and white swirls as the cream mixed in, the sound of the bubbles surfacing. West behind him, going endlessly on about something in his clear child's voice, bare feet tapping the floor, tap tap tap tap, and the sound of Vicki turning the newspaper's page by the table.

From that moment on, it was unlike any other phone call Misha had ever received.  
The silence stretched. He heard the gasp, heard the shiver in the flow of air his friend breathed in. Heard the hesitation. Stopped mixing the soup, laid his hands on the table instead. Leaned. His blood rushing away from his body's extremities like rats abandoning a sinking ship, leaving his fingertips cold as ice.

"Jared? What happened? Is everyone alright?"

Vicki's head rising slightly, her hands tensing over the pages, listening.

"It's - it's Jensen - he, he..."

"He what? Jared, what happened?"  
Panic settling in. The spirits of the rodents were trapped inside his stomach and tried to claw their way out, like a reverse rat torture.

"Misha, Jensen shot himself."

 

*

 

The grass was green. It bent over in the summer breeze, reflecting sunlight like a strange ocean on a calm day. Misha had walked out barefooted. He'd left the phone on the table, motioned Vicki over without a word, he hadn't been able to say anything. He'd just stormed out, left the soup, left his wife, left their son, left the house.

The last word he'd heard was Vicki's voice barely whispering a denial onto the line. He'd heard West's voice, the questioning tone, but not the words. He'd started running and he'd kept going until he was far away from home. His feet hurt, burned, he'd stepped into something twice and there was blood all over the sole when he absently turned his eyes to examine the damage. His mind was empty. His body was numb. His heart wasn't there and in its absence, a heavy weight had moved in taking over the space where his feelings had once been.

He buried his fingertips into the grass, then through them into the earth. It was frustrating how the ground didn't simply give in when he pushed at it - he had to tear through the roots, and it was hard work for the small muscles in his fingers.  
He had dirt under his nails and it kept building up. The wind was warm. He was sweaty. His shirt still smelled of fresh laundry. It was the most piercing scent he'd smelled the whole day and it lingered about him like a veil, sometimes striking as it now did as if for the first time - it was a chemical scent, a fresh but throughoutly unnatural one that did not mix with the scents of nature.

He tore the shirt off, slammed it on the ground, rubbed hard. The grass stained the light blue textile. He rubbed harder until skin started peeling off from under his nails at the friction. Then he let out a pained sound, leaned forwards into a bow until his forehead touched the ground, and he cried.

 

*

 

He spent the flight surrounded and separated from everyone else by a thick white wall of mist. Vicki sat there next to him, mostly looking after West. He had Maison in his arms: the girl screamed most of the way, alarmed by their sadness and the plane's pressure shifts and the noise and the feel of her own weight moving with the giant tube of metal pushing determinedly through the air towards its destination so fast it was impossible to understand while sitting inside it. Her ears probably felt funny and that feeling scared her. Misha held a finger against her tiny cheek and kept staring out of the oval window. Sometimes she grabbed onto that finger and held it and for a moment, everything was quiet. Once the man pulled his finger free again just to get her to scream again. He needed that noise, needed her life filling his ears so that he, too, could feel alive.

They landed at sunset. His foot ached when he walked through the familiar airport. Jared was there. Jared drove them somewhere. He wasn't paying attention. He could barely greet the younger. They stopped at a hotel, he refused to stay. Jared had brought him something and insisted he would much rather have it inside, but he did not, in fact, much rather want it inside. He knew where he wanted it.  
Jared drove them near the beach and he climbed up to a cliff he'd often visited while jogging there. The tall man followed him and leaned to the railing there beside him.  
They were quiet.  
Misha took note of his paleness and the messy state of his hair. Jared pretended not to see him. He stared at the ocean instead, his fingers diving into his bag in slow motion, scraping around, trying to find something from inside. He pulled out a book, looked down at it and opened it from the middle. There was a small envelope in there with Jensen's handwriting on top, the ink forming Misha's name in regretful, thin but determined strokes.

Jared handed it to him and stayed silent, giving him the privacy he expected him to want. Slowly, Misha turned the letter around, his fingertips trembling as he ran them across the sealed envelope, knowing he'd have to rip it open. His hand slid down onto his pocket, looking for his keys. He didn't have them.  
"Jared, could you... lend me a key."

Jared pulled out the car key - it was thicker than Misha would have liked, but it was the best blade he had at hand. He tore the envelope open, gave the other back his car key and with trembling hands pulled out the letter.

 

*

 

_Hey Mish_

_I don't really know how to start a note like this  
_ _Never done it before, right?_

 

_*_

 

It didn't exactly come out of the blue. Things like this, retrospectively, never did. Beforehand it was always downplayed, which contributed to the eventual plot twist - _he's just feeling down_ , _it's nothing serious_ , _everyone drinks heavy sometimes_ , _everyone gets moody_. And it's true - everyone does. Misha didn't pretend he was better than anyone else on this subject. Of course he'd noticed the signs. He'd just decided to postpone talking about them because he didn't know how to approach the subject. He'd tried, Jensen had declined, he'd pushed and Jensen had told him to drop it, and he had. He'd thought he'd pull it up on a better time but better time never happened, they got busy, then he travelled, then Jensen wrote him a letter instead and shot himself in the head while he was far enough to not stop him from doing it.

Jared was distraught. He shook while Misha read the letter. He'd found Jensen - he'd heard the shot. He'd called 911 and he'd followed their instructions to do next to nothing aside sit there and try to breathe. Misha didn't need to ask to know; the blood had been everywhere, and there had been a lot of it, and Jared had simply had to watch more pour out of the wound and wait as the endless minutes passed by. He'd been immobilized, unable to even walk out. He'd been in the ambulance, didn't remember much of it.

The paper Misha held was good in quality, thick and somewhat yellow, mixed in fabric. Jensen had written the lines with the sort of an ink pen that was found quite literally everywhere around the studio, they often made notes in the scripts with those and left them lying around because there were so many of them that returning them seemed pointless. They hid them out all around the sets and when one was lost, they brought in another, hid it in turn and used it until it vanished like the previous one.  
Plain, black ink forming words that felt like the younger's voice turned into something solid. Each letter was clear and defined, round in shape and soft in form yet together they formed strong, bonded combinations.

"Did he leave one for you?" Misha heard himself asking.

An odd, choked chuckle escaped the younger before he nodded.  
"It has his... blood... all over the envelope. Danneel's the worst. I think he wrote it last. It's..."

Tearstained. Crumbled. Messy with inkblots and crossed over words, short, incoherent sentences.  
Jared didn't have to end the sentence. Misha had one of those too. He was holding his fingers against it, right underneath the clean first one. He was sure the first was written before the rest. A weight so heavy it hurt him physically had crawled down from his chest and into the pit of his stomach. He had a shadow, a premonition, that loomed over him. It burned him from the inside out and the rats kept struggling. Flashes of pain travelled across his body. He swallowed and tried again.

 

*

 

 _Sorry this is all you'll have. Honest, I tried to talk.  
_ _I'm not so good at talking.  
_ _I didn't know where to start  
_ _Didn't know where I wanted to go with it  
_ _Feared all kinds of stupid crap I probably shouldn't have  
_ _and you'll blame yourself for all that now, for nothing.  
_ _So don't.  
_ _It isn't your fault.  
_ _I'm not your responsibility._  
 _I_ _am my own responsibility._

 _But Misha, I have a lot of confessions to make.  
_ _They aren't all good or worth making. Actually, most of them are better off unspoken. You knew, I guess.  
_ _For example, about the fight we had, yeah I was guilty as charged. I just needed to pretend I wasn't at fault, that  
_ _you know  
_ _I had my reasons. And I did, yeah, but they weren't all that good. I regret things like that now.  
_ _Old, forgotten things, like being an asshole to you when we first met. I'm sorry.  
_ _You turned out to be cool but even if you hadn't, you didn't deserve it._

 _I want you to smile. So please smile, okay? Because here goes.  
_ _I'm still afraid. I guess that's all I've ever been, afraid. Of myself, mostly, but there's a lot out there to fear too. Judgement. Misunderstandings. Fuck, most of all, acceptance and understanding.  
_ _The worst thing in the whole world is to find someone who really gets you.  
_ _I know you know what I mean._

 _Okay, first confession.  
_ _27th of February. I kissed you while you slept. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have. Was drunk. Was stupid.  
_ _Was my mistake. Didn't want to tell you in the morning. Was still a little drunk. When I wasn't drunk, I just excused myself out of it. Nah, it was nothing, you didn't wake up, it was only on the cheek etc.  
_ _All kinds of excuses. I love making excuses._

 _Second confession.  
_ _I stole your shirt.  
_ _The black one.  
_ _Sorry._

 _Third confession.  
_ _I told you I can't come but I went out drinking with Jared.  
_ _I don't remember when. It's been a while. Like four months while.  
_ _But I was actually sick, Jared just pestered me into it. I was resting. I swear._

 _Doesn't really seem like anything worth killing yourself over, actually, now that I put these down on paper and read through them. They just pile up. It's not over these that I do it, but I told you once, didn't I? That when it gets bad, I can't stop thinking about everything I failed.  
_ _Especially the little things, but also the big ones, the ones we both avoid to acknowledge, and those I just let fester until I can't go near them anymore. That's how it happened. That's how it got this bad._

_This is the fourth draft and I need to stop. I'm so messed up, Misha. I don't know why but I can't get to the point. Making less and less sense each time I try, put down the stupidest things._  
 _I try laying it out like this, like if I just pour it all out at once then maybe, maybe the actual thing will fall through too._  
 _Look, I didn't. Again. I didn't again. It's like it's physically impossible for me to write down._

 

*

 

Jared's eyes had caught up somewhere near the edge of the paper. Misha didn't pull it away, he knew the younger wasn't reading, just staring.

"It's really long," Jared spoke quietly when Misha raised his eyes from the first paper before turning it over.

He didn't want his tears on the letters. He didn't want to ruin the perfect lines. The second paper was, as he'd expected, already stained. He turned his eyes to Jared and smiled the saddest smile he'd ever had on his face.  
"You'd imagine he'd be brief," he said before continuing on.

 

*

 

 _I won't redo the previous page. Have it as it is. Here's the bottom line.  
_ _Dmitri, I love you._

 _As a friend. As something akin to family. As something much more than that.  
_ _I_ _feel like I should explain. I can't. There's nothing to explain. I wish I hadn't been afraid.  
_ _I wish I hadn't listened to anyone else. I wish I had just gone with it.  
_ _We've been drunk often enough for the chance to present itself, and it's not like we really needed to get drunk. I love the way you kiss my neck. It makes me feel beautiful._

 _It's not a traditional case of 'it's not you, it's me', because it's not really me either.  
_ _No, it's more of a case of Brokeback Mountain inside my head. You know my upbringing.  
_ _You know what kind of a place, what sort of ideals, I come from.  
_ _You know because it's you I've always talked to, the things I couldn't share with others. You know I've been afraid of a lot of things, mostly running or hiding from them, that I built this massive wall around who I really am and then let you slip past.  
_ _That's how you got there, Misha. You always listened  
_ _even when I wasn't speaking  
_ _Especially when I wasn't speaking  
_ _And I appreciate, I really do, that you tried to reach out to me last week. It made me feel so much better, made me doubt my decision. But yeah, there's more. Too much to write out.  
_ _I'm tired. I guess I just can't face you or anyone else again. I said goodbye to Jared an hour ago but I worry it's gonna be him, you know?_

 _Well,  
_ _all said and done -  
_ _this isn't your fault, Misha.  
_ _Thank you for everything._

_~ Jensen_

 

*

 

He didn't sleep. He sat on the hotel room balcony and stared at the city's lights, listening to the endless noise of the cars and everyone still outside, the tourists and visitors flocking in and out of the hotel. Wind caught his short hair and shook the papers he held tight in his hand. Inside, Vicki was writing something in a notebook, had been for a long while now. They hadn't talked for hours now, not since Misha had briefed her of what he knew.

He tried to hang onto that. Jensen had been taken straight to surgery and he'd survived it. That was the extent of good news. Bad news was he was in for another and then more, and the chances for him to ever wake up again were slim to none. It was, to quote, extremely likely he would not make it through the night. It comforted Misha somewhat to know Danneel was there with him, but it didn't take out the hollowness from inside him, the knowledge that _he_ was not there. It wouldn't offer him much comfort to sit by the other's bed for hours on end, but he would never forgive himself if Jensen would slip away during the night and he was sleeping, so he stayed up instead, outside so that he would be closer when it happened.

With trembling fingers, he picked out his phone again and called Jared. The other picked up almost immediately.

"What was in your letter?" Misha asked him, looking down at the papers and the transcoded voice scribbled on them.  
He heard a car sounding its horn from the other end of the line and found himself smiling.  
"You're on the balcony, aren't you?"

Jared breathed out, and through slipped an indecisive sound.  
"Gen is here with me," he spoke then.

There was a brief noise over the phone and then Genevieve's voice greeting him wornly, thinly, raspily. Misha greeted her back. She sighed when she gave the phone back to Jared. Misha could see them, curled up on the same seat, Gen's thin arms around Jared's body, her hair as messy as his and red rings surrounding her eyes.  
He looked up at the sky and realised he missed the stars. Few were visible in the city lights.

"I can show it to you," Jared finally said.  
Misha realised they'd been quiet for more than two minutes.

"Now?"  
  
"I need a walk, Misha. And Gen needs some sleep."

"Copy that."

 

*

 

"He's my best friend."

As if Misha didn't know that. He thrust his hands down his pockets and nodded. Jared didn't need an answer, he was stating the glaring obvious.  
They walked aimlessly around the city, following predetermined paths without choosing any in particular. The younger had the paper there, folded from the middle - Misha's had been, too. He held it like an artefact, something valuable and fragile. Misha feared it'd be caught by the wind and carried away.

"I feel so guilty. He says nothing, Misha. Nothing I didn't already know, anyway. Tells me not to blame myself."  
  
"Of course you blame yourself."

Jared nodded.  
They walked in silence for a few minutes, ending up at the shoreline again. The ocean glittered with golden lights. The wind was growing harder by the moment.

"He was... not unconscious, Misha. When I came in. He _looked at me_."

"He was in shock."

They stopped by the railing and leaned against it, just like they'd done before. The sea smelled of salt, oil and seaweeds.

"I said something to him. I just can't remember what. Here, take it."

Misha's fingers trapped the thin note firmly. He wouldn't let it fly away but he couldn't open it yet either.  
"Are you sure I can...?" he asked from the quiet waves.

"Yeah."

 

*

 

 _Brother,  
_ _I'm so sorry.  
_ _You didn't deserve this. You don't deserve to carry this with you.  
_ _I wish you wouldn't blame yourself, but I know you're too kind to blame me.  
_ _It's your way of thinking; always your fault. Never anyone else's.  
_ _If you'd done this, done that, it wouldn't have happened, right?_

 _Jared, it's not worth it.  
_ _Thank you for coming to me today.  
_ _I wish I could have said something more.  
_ _I hoped you'd have left.  
_ _I'm sorry you stayed.  
_ _Not that it matters - doesn't it seem pretentious, saying 'I'm sorry' but not stopping?_

 _I deserve your anger.  
_ _I know you love me, anyway.  
_ _I love you too.  
_ _I hope you can forgive me one day._

_~ J(2)_

 

*

 

They overstayed.  
On the second morning, Misha fell asleep on the bed while Vicki was out with the kids and slept for a good seven hours before Jared called in to report no news at all. Jensen was in and out of surgery, still in coma with no signs of revival. He was stable in the sense that his condition wasn't getting any worse but it wasn't getting any better either, and that waiting game only had so many outcomes. Still critical, still critical, surgery, still critical. The reports resembled the sound of the heart monitor sitting by the bed in Jensen's room somewhere in the hospital. By the fourth day, they had started to lose their meaning.

On the fifth morning, the sun had barely started lighting up the skyline when Misha woke up to his phone's ringtone. The mostly calm tune had turned into the most nerve-wrecking sound he knew, but he couldn't change it and risk branding another song with the same memories. He fumbled about until he managed to turn the phone against his ear and find the correct button to press.

"He made it. He's going to survive."

Misha didn't notice getting up. He barely heard himself ask the obvious questions, and the next thing he knew, he was in the shower washing off the pain and the fear, knowing he would soon have more of it to cover himself with. It was the best morning of his life, like being gifted with a loved one he'd already lost, not only once but every and each day when he hadn't woken up, hadn't shown signs of recovery, and had been so close to dying.

The rest of the day was just more of the same again.

 

*

 

Two weeks later, the sunlight played upon the grey hospital floor when Misha stepped inside. His stomach was a mess, he had mistakingly thought he was okay with a cup of coffee but he was not. His head was swimming and his insides were somersaulting with every step he took, every thought he thought and everything he saw. He was smiling like an idiot as he walked through the corridor, and he couldn't even recall how long he'd waited for this. In short, he feared his head was more messed up than Jensen's.

He nearly walked into Danneel - he didn't know what to say, so he apologised. She smiled at him, happy to get some sleep, it was written all over her paper white appearance. Her palm appeared and disappeared from Misha's shoulder, but the man couldn't spare a thought to the meaning. He pushed open the door and felt his feet growing roots at an impossible speed, roots that dug right into the cold floor beneath him. The door closed. The machines kept a steady repetitive noise.  
Step by step he brought himself closer. The machines grew louder. He could see the younger's hand on the white bed and everything he was hooked up to - it looked like a scene from their sets, like Dean all over again, and for a moment Misha hesitated again. Then he brushed that off and took the required steps to see behind the partial wall set up in front of the bed.

He sat on the chair before his legs gave in under him. Jensen's eyes turned to him, green and bright and clear as always. Misha didn't know what to say or if to say anything at all, so he grabbed the other's hand instead and held it tight. The faintest smile played upon the other's face.

"One out of a hundred, Jensen. What is it we need to do to get rid of you?"  
His voice wavered and a tear fell on his cheek, followed soon by another and then a third. He felt conscious about the manner his lip trembled, but pretended to not care.

The expression on the younger's face told Misha exactly what he was going to attempt to say next; he was too slow to even begin before the older had his finger raised to silence him.  
"If you say 'I'm sorry' once more, I will kidnap Princess Ackles."

That shut him up.

"I don't want another apology."  
The tears were still coming, but at least he could control his voice now.  
"Not a single more. I will beat you up when you get out of here. I will strangle you and throw you off a dock and straight into the sea."

He closed his eyes and drew breath.  
Jensen attempted to say something - his voice was a rough gasp, and just hearing that threw Misha off so bad he didn't hear the words. His eyes were wide open now and he instinctively leaned closer.  
"What? Sorry, what was it?"

The younger rolled his eyes wearily.  
"Remember... to add... the weight."  
Another smile.

"I'll tie you to the Impala and drive you off a cliff."  
He loved the smirk, loved the faint grin that followed, and didn't hold back the sob when the younger slipped out of consciousness and the expression faded, leaving behind a restful look. He held the younger's hand tighter and listened to the sound of the monitor beeping.

 

*

 

Danneel held her cup of coffee like it was her most precious possession. She didn't talk much, but she'd asked them there, so Misha let her have her silence. Vicki held her hand on her lap, stroking the upper side with her thumb. The kids were with Jared and Gen, all of them. Misha couldn't help wondering how they were doing. Four small kids was a big burden for two people to look after alone in the midst of all this, even when it was for just a couple hours, but there weren't many other places they could have dropped them off at. Plus, Danneel aside, nobody had expected to stay. Misha had intended to walk in and walk out when his time was up, sticking around for coffee hadn't been the plan. He didn't mind it. He was much rather here than anywhere else, and without the small factors, this would have been his choice, to stay at the sterile-smelling café drinking bitter black coffee and nipping tiny bits out of his dry sandwhich that he really did not want to eat at all.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" Vicki asked, breaking the silence that had continued on for almost twenty minutes.  
Danneel raised her head, hesitated, and nodded towards the corridor that passed them from close by and continued deeper into the hospital wing.

"Not far along there," she replied.  
Misha watched his wife stand up, stroke Danneel's cheek in passing and leave. He felt her fingers in his hair for just a moment before her footsteps carried her past him.  
Danneel's eyes caught onto him and she watched him passively for a while.

"How long was yours?" she asked after the silence had stretched on for another minute or two.

Misha looked back at her, feeling politely confused.  
"My what?" he asked awkwardly when Danneel didn't seem to intend to specify.

"Your letter."

"Oh."  
The sound slipped past his guard and he wished he could have just breathed it back in, undo it. It was too casual, too disrespectful.  
"Two."

He didn't expect Danneel to laugh, but she did.  
"Fourteen," she breathed out, a tear on her cheek, "and I burnt them all."

Misha licked his lips indecisively.

"I want him to talk - I don't want him writing to me from his grave, I want him to tell me how he feels, I need to know from him when he - why didn't he tell me?"  
She laid her head on her arms and rested against the table, her shoulders shaking every now and then.  
Misha laid his hand over her arm and stayed.  
When Vicki came back, she hugged Danneel from behind and stayed as well - they looked curious, if not a little insane, piling over the table. An old woman turned her face away, a man stared.

 

*

 

"I did tell her," Jensen insisted.  
He was looking out the window at the sunbathed city outside. His finger tapped the bed anxiously. He was restless but still too weak to even consider trying to get out the bed - a bad combination for a man used to endless action and a busy lifestyle.  
"I did."

"No, you did not," Misha countered again.  
His voice was patient in the way that he knew would piss the other off, but he thought it was better to be honest about it than to act. The latter would be insulting and against what they were together.  
As a reward, he caught a scalding look from the younger.

"I did tell her," Jensen repeated.

"No," Misha sighed, "you did not."

They were silent for a moment. Jensen's lips were dry and chapped, a strange state for them as they usuall looked full and soft. His pale skin highlighted the hundred freckles on the side of his face that Misha was watching.

"I did," he finally started again, but to Misha's surprise, continued; "So she burnt them? All ten and something?"

"Fourteen. Yes."  
The older examined Jensen's expression, and did not expect the smile. Jensen closed his eyes and was quiet for so long that Misha wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep. Finally, his mouth opened with a small wet sound and he breathed out a whisper, trying words before saying them aloud. He'd started doing that, as if he wasn't sure they'd come out right if he didn't try first. Half the time, it didn't work; his pronounciation was slurred and it frustrated him.

"Did she r... re - rea... dammit."

Misha slapped him on the shoulder and leaned back.  
"Can't understand you, how about you speak faster, or clearer, or at least a little louder. Come on."

Jensen side-eyed him.  
"What do you want next, cartwheels?" he grunted.

Misha cocked his head and crossed his legs, pushing his feet against the bed. Jensen's fingers found his toes and started rubbing at them absently and so slowly it was hypnotic to watch.  
"Cartwheels are boring. A somersault's so much cooler."

"You just want me to pr- no, I won't. I won't go there. Fuck."  
The younger seemed to slide down in his bed despite that being physically impossible for him to do. He was probably shrinking, not sliding.

"Read, pronounce."

"No," Jensen shot back at him.  
Misha reached to nudge at his cheek.  
"Yes."

"Read, pro-no-I-fucking-won't."

"Nearly there, got a little long at the end."

"Shut the fuck up, Mish, and answer the fucking question."

"That's better."  
Misha licked his lips and in turn started staring out the window. His time was running out. Pigeons charged down from the roof somewhere, flashing across their view. Jensen had been looking at him but turned to look at the window again when the shadows crossed the room. He didn't see anything out of the usual.

"She read them," Misha confirmed.

"She won't talk to me."  
  
"I wouldn't either. Give her some time."

Jensen huffed.

"Yeah, right."

"What?"  
  
"You _are_ talking to me."  
  
"Just because nobody else will. Okay, Jared's with you tomorrow, he probably will -"  
  
"Misha?"

"Yes?"

Misha could sense the aggravation from the way Jensen was looking at him, but he also knew it wasn't aimed at him. He would have given anything to just help the younger out the bed for a moment, but he wasn't risking anything. Jensen could barely talk and stayed awake for minutes at a time - he'd just need to suck it up.  
"Did _you_ read what I wrote?"  
The younger restarted the sentence thrice. Behind him, Misha could hear the nurse opening the door and telling him he was out of time. He stood up, holding the eye contact.

"Yes," he replied and turned away, leaving Jensen behind expecting an answer Misha didn't have, not yet.

 

*

West was curious about the youngest girl - so curious he kept sneaking back to Danneel no matter what Misha tried to trick him away with. He didn't want movies. He didn't want a snack. He didn't want to play with Thomas and he didn't want to look after his sister. He was dead set on just wanting to play with the small baby, and after a while, Vicki announced they'd be taking a walk with Danneel and Genevieve while Misha and Jared would have to make their children go to bed somehow. Easier said than done, of course.  
It took fifteen minutes of patiently picking up West over and over again before they got him to stay in bed, but at the stage they'd managed that, they couldn't find Thomas anywhere. He'd decided to hide under the bed to avoid bedtime, and screamed like no tomorrow when they found him and announced it was inevitable. Half an hour later, the place was quiet.

"Man," Jared mumbled, sinking into a chair, "I thought I'd get to spend summer at home."

Misha sighed.  
"Do you have anything to drink?" he asked wearily.  
The younger nodded, pointing in the general direction - Misha followed the instructions that lead him up to the fridge. He pulled out a beer and handed one to the taller.

"At least you're not stuck in a hotel," the older continued on as he sat down to drink.  
Jared huffed.  
"Yeah, well."

They drank in silence for a while, both looking ready to just sleep. The door in the hallway opened, signaling the return of the women.

"I still don't know why he did it."  
Jared spoke quietly as if to make sure the conversation stayed strictly in the room. Misha was happy for that - he could hear Danneel laughing.

"Honestly, I don't think he'll ever tell us either," the younger continued in a defeated tone.

Misha shook his head slowly.  
"I think he told Danneel," he said as if talking to himself.  
Their eyes met.

"He'll try again."

"I know, Jared."

"We need to get him to talk."

Misha stood up again, offering his hand to Jared to pull him up. The man's grip was firm.  
They walked into the living room, both wearing a mask to cover what they truly thought, meeting the three equally masked women.  
"I hope you left some of that for us, too," Vicki scoffed, eyeing the beer his husband held.

 

*

 

Her warmth against Misha's side was more comforting than the drunken state he was in. Vicki had her arm across his chest and her face pressed against his shoulder.  
"I need to get back to LA," she said, as if to remind him he wouldn't have this forever, "I've already taken most of my time off to stay here, and I would stay longer, but -"

"I remember," Misha cut her off, his fingers trailing into her hair, "You need to go, that's okay."

"So you'll stay?"  
  
"I have to."  
  
"Good."

She turned around, grabbed his hand and guided his finger onto her lips. The tip slid just past her lips and when she released him, the skin on that part was wet.  
"You'd be a stranger if you followed me back home."

Misha felt a crooked smile upon his face.  
"He'll probably get transferred soon. They can't stay in here forever, either."

"If I could pick a hospital, it would be in Canada, and nothing would get me back to States."  
Vicki's fingers pushed between his husband's and she moved even closer, as if there was still space between them to cross.  
"There's something we need to talk about, isn't there?" she asked after a while.

Misha closed his eyes. Sometimes, he could have sworn she read his mind.  
"Yes," he mumbled, feeling a massive headache brewing.  
"It's about Jensen's letter to me."

 

*

 

The hospital room's window was open. Misha had grown used to Jensen's refusal to look at him by now, and instead of trying to achieve an eye contact, he just stared out the window like the younger did, trying to understand what he saw out there. He'd asked, but Jensen hadn't answered him.  
Today's visit seemed purposeless in that aspect anyway - the other wasn't talking at all, and Misha was tired of trying. Earlier, Jensen had fought with Danneel, Misha had heard as much from Jared after Gen had announced he'd be looking after Thomas alone that night. She'd gone to Danneel and turned off her phone and Jared had called Misha to vent.  
It was awkward for both of them: their relationship had never been like that and stepping across the borders now was proving difficult to say at least. It was Jensen Jared would have normally called, but in Jensen's absence, he'd grown closer to Misha, and they were now in the awkward midfield where neither really knew what kind of a friendship they had.

Finally, the younger shifted and drew breath, alerting Misha in advance that he was about to say something, and that something seemed to be the thing that was bothering him.  
"A nurse told me I was blessed," he said, his voice low and rough.  
He was still looking out, but his expression seemed absent and locked.  
"Apparently this is a miracle - that I talk. That I can move. That I'm not a vegetable."  
Slowly, he turned to look at Misha - now his expression reminded the older of his son, as the look in his eyes was challenging and upset like West's when he was pissed off and wanted to share the misery with everyone.

"Ironic," Misha responded calmly, pulling his feet on the chair he occupied.  
He hugged his knees and prepared for whatever the other had in store for him, but it seemed his answer had taken Jensen by surprise and dulled the blade of his next line to the point delivering the blow was pointless now. The younger seemed lost in his eyes for a while before shrugging and turning towards the window.

He didn't say anything else until Misha was told to leave, but he didn't object to the older holding his hand until then either. It was difficult to be there for him, especially when half the time Misha wanted nothing more than to punch him square in the face, but the time wasn't quite right yet.

 

*

Misha spent the evening chatting with Vicki and West on webcam, went to sleep early and woke up half past four in the morning. Despite still being tired, he couldn't fall asleep again, and instead chose to go for an early jog. At six, he stopped to grab some breakfast, feeling rejuvenated and for once a little less stressed out. He returned to the hotel for a shower and slept for two hours more, waking up for the second time with the taste of old coffee filling his mouth.

He spoke with Danneel before noon, she sounded hungover and declared she wanted nothing to do with Jensen that day, so Misha asked if he could use her visit hour instead. She had nothing against that - by the sound of it, she just wanted to sleep.

So a couple hours later, the man found himself entering the usual hospital room. The sound of the door closing behind him didn't trigger anxiety anymore. He heard Jensen adjusting on the bed before he looked, and he was greeted by a conflicted gaze when he walked closer.  
He didn't sit on the chair but on the bed instead against all instructions given. Today, he didn't want to keep the distance. He didn't even want to hit Jensen, which was a glaring difference to the days past. Right there and then, he just wanted to hug him and hold him close for long enough for all his unspoken thoughts to just flow into the other so that he would _know_ and maybe even understand what he meant to Misha. That he couldn't do. He didn't really even dare to touch Jensen anywhere else but his hand, afraid he'd accidentally break him, although his logical thinking kept telling him the doctors wouldn't allow visitors if he truly was that fragile.

"Can you open the window?" the younger asked.  
His fingers stroked Misha's slowly and somehow clumsily, eventually gripping the older's hand briefly before letting him slide off the bed. Misha crossed the small distance between the bed and the window and wrestled the handle down. The window opened with a quiet creak and he left it ajar so that fresh air flooded the room.

"Thanks."

He sat back down, this time on the other side of the bed, and took Jensen's hand in his again.  
"How's your head?" he asked, attempting a stupid smile to top the stupid question.

"Swimming with medication," Jensen replied, glancing at him unimpressedly.  
"Is Danneel okay?"

"She's... she, uh, had a long night with Gen."

"Oh."

Misha examined the other's expression. Jensen looked tired and moody.  
"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you do it?"

It was Jensen's turn to examine him instead, and he allowed the younger to take his time. He knew he was looking for something that'd decide his answer, and since Misha had no idea what it could be, the only response he had in storage for the inspection was to be completely honest.  
After a moment, Jensen's expression relaxed. His eyes turned back towards the window; sunlight painted them a brilliant shade of green.

"It's never that simple, is it?" he asked in turn, talking to himself more than he was to Misha.  
Misha held his hand tighter, waiting. Minutes ticked by.  
After a while, Jensen spoke again. A smile lingered about his mouth - he looked much more familiar that way, even with all the bandages wrapped around his head.  
"While I think, do you have an answer for me?"

Misha let out a small sigh.  
"No," he admitted, "I don't. I'm thinking. I need time, and probably your answer first. I'm lost, Jensen. If you'd told me before this, I would have had an answer - no, more like ten - for you ready at hand. Right now, I don't even know if I know who you are."

The younger's slender fingers pushed between his, perhaps out of a subconscious decision, looking for comfort and closeness. Misha pulled his hand up on his lap and covered it with his other hand as well. Jensen closed his eyes to escape the pressure the situation burdened him with: the embarrasment and self-consciousness, the feelings of weakness and guilt.  
Sometimes, he held the older's hand tighter, and occasionally his grip loosened entirely so that he was merely relaxing his hand cupped between Misha's. The visiting man had already grown used to these breaks when he rested, usually only half conscious, for a while before returning to the situation. He came back some seven minutes later, opening his eyes just a little bit and examining Misha through the slits again.  
Then he closed his eyes again and huffed.

"I told Danneel. She flipped."

"You told her what?"  
  
"Everything. And she burned the evidence."

"Well."

"Did she think I could tell her aloud? Say all that? She came here blaming me for it. That I hadn't opened up to her. How could I? I can't even voice my discomfort half the time, how did she expect me to tell her something I don't even dare to think about?"

"Have you tried not thinking and just pouring it out instead?"

Jensen peered at him again.  
"It'd kill me, Mish."

"Well, I guess that would in a sense solve a problem for you, don't you think? I mean, isn't that what you aimed for with the gun - you failed, so if you die while explaining your reasoning, wouldn't that just be, I don't know, a good deal?"

"Shut up."

"No. I'm fucking pissed at you, Jensen."

"Yeah, I'm aware. Doesn't make me feel any better, really."

"As long as you know you deserve to feel shitty for this. But not the rest, Jensen. Not the rest. And I want to help you - I really do. I can't come to you, you need to come to me first. You get that, right? You're not stupid. In order for me to help you, I need you to meet me in the middle."

The younger smiled. He struggled to move up, and without a conscious decision Misha reached in to help him, pushing an arm underneath him and assisting him until he relaxed again some five inches further up the giant pillow he lied on top of.  
The warmth of his body had set off an alarm in Misha, his hair was standing up and his cheeks flustered for no reason whatsoever as he sat down again. He was so relieved, so thankful for the very fact that Jensen was still alive, and actually feeling him - his living weight, warmth and movement - made that all almost too real for Misha to handle, as if he could only now really believe that Jensen was there and wasn't going anywhere.

"This is probably weird to you," Jensen spoke, "but I'm thankful you don't sugarcoat it for me. I really am."  
He was breathless from that minor struggle.  
"I can trust you. Right now, it's just you and Danneel. You tell me how much you hate me. I need that."

"Does it make you think twice about your plans?"

That took him off guard. Misha watched the shock on his face with mild curiosity.  
"Yeah, Jensen, we're all pretty much aware you're just waiting to get out so you can finish the job. I don't think any of us expects you to just suck it up that you didn't die, after all, you _failed_ to kill yourself. That's just one more thing, isn't it? Proof that you're worthless. You didn't even manage to kill yourself, despite choosing a foolproof method."  
The tone of Misha's voice was a surprise to both of them. It was passive aggressive to the point where it leaked with honeyed poison.

Jensen's way of crying was complex, to put at least. It was something that happened slowly and quietly, just a detail that surrounded what he thought, felt and did. At the same time, it was overwhelming for him to stand, it took over and suffocated him, constricted his chest and made his breathing laboured, probably ached like a wound in his chest.  
It hurt Misha too to see it now, to know he'd pushed him that far, but what else had he tried to achieve? He reached a hand out to brush the lone tear off the younger's cheek. Jensen tried to stop him, but he was still tired over the shift in his pose and could barely lift his hand, much less push him away.

"I hope that sounded awful to you, because that's all my head is right now. Full of knowing that my best friend is just waiting, waiting to die. Do you know how that feels like? To know I can do nothing to stop you in the end?"

"Misha, I..."  
There was a stern knock on the door. It prompted a startled, desperate eye contact between them - this was a bad timing, but there wasn't anything they could do about it. Misha took a firm hold of the younger's hand for just one more moment.  
"I love you, Jensen."

It was the only thing he could possibly say.  
Outside, he collapsed on a patch of grass to cry with his head hidden behind his arms and between his knees, wishing he had a car to offer an illusion of privacy. Summer's heat burned at the back of his neck.

 

*

 

He had nightmares the whole night, waking up every twenty to forty minutes gasping and more often than not covered with cold sweat. At some point he decided making tea was a trick worth trying, but when he sat on the bed drinking the results, he couldn't really recall ever making that decision, proving that he'd been more than half asleep when he'd gotten up.

His thoughts were a mess, nothing he could think of was coherent and mostly the flow consisted of cut off quotes with no contexts, parts from his nightmares mixing in with memories, and on the top of it all, the words that the unknown nurse had spoken to Jensen, that his survival was a miracle.  
Jensen didn't want a miracle. Out of everyone who had been shot in the head, he was the one to receive a "miracle". He didn't even want to live. Yet his body had struggled to survive. Was it anything but a prison for him, a form of torture he'd briefly escaped only to be forced back in again? What were the things he was running from, and would he ever be able to face them without breaking?  
Did he even want to?

How likely it was that in a few months, Misha would be watching his coffin lowered into a cold hole in the ground with a pretentious, bought bouquet of flowers in one hand and a purposeless trail of tears staining his face? What the hell was he doing here, sitting in a hotel room drinking tea, and what the fuck else could he possibly do?

 


	2. Transformation

 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Jensen had managed to grow a couple inches of hair over the scars, but after the bandages came off, it looked flat, lifeless and bent in every other direction unevenly. He had his fingers in it constantly as if to make sure he  _did_  have hair - he never ventured far enough to touch the scars, nor did he want to see them.

He was transferred back to Los Angeles a mere week before he was given permission to go home. He opted to, of course, but the restrictions were still heavy, and he couldn't do much else than sit in his bed. It was still an improvement, at least for Misha, as despite the constant fear that now that he wasn't under strict supervision he could attempt to kill himself again, at least the older could visit for longer and still go home for the night.

Sometimes Vicki came with him. She and Danneel had something magical going on that Misha didn't want to disturb and therefore, he ended up spending a lot more time with Jensen than he would have liked to every time the women ruled over the rest of the house. It was quite clear to him that he was really the only one who even wanted to spare time for Jensen - they were still fighting with Danneel, but even if they hadn't been, he was far from the very loosest definitions of good company. Jared tried, but Jensen refused to talk to him. They weren't really certain why, but Misha suspected it was simply because Jensen was too guilty to face him and hoped to push him away. Jared, tired of the whole situation, noted dryly that if that was what he aimed for, then it was working well for him.  
He did take it back an hour after, apparently feeling guilty enough to call Misha about it. They talked for a good couple hours and when Misha finally crawled in bed, he noticed that he was nearing his own limits as well, not only with the situation but with Jensen's attitude and refusal to reach out to anyone.  
Vicki raised her leg over him and pulled him close.

"You need to take distance, Misha."

"I know."

 

*

 

"You need to stop sulking in the dark," Misha announced in place for greetings.  
He closed the door behind him and walked across the bedroom up to the window, pulled aside the curtains and then the window to let in fresh air.  
Jensen had pulled himself up and was hugging his knees, clearly uncomfortable with the changes, but Misha didn't have the empathy to spare. He went to him and sat on the bed, grabbed the younger's shoulder and pressed two fingers under his chin to force an eye contact.  
"You are not dead, Ackles," he grunted.

"Have you started wishing I was?"

"Shut the fuck up and stop whining. Stop the self-pity. You're a pain in everyone's ass right now, and you really need to get over it. I called your doctor and I have plans for today, and I don't give a shit about what you feel about them. Come on now."  
The older grabbed Jensen's arm and tugged at it, his fingers pressing into the man's flesh much harder than was necessary. He hoped the pain would do something, get a reaction out of the other, but he got nothing.  
He pulled harder and got an unreasonable amount of pleasure from the sight of the younger's legs sliding upon the mattress as he gave up and cooperated, shifting closer to Misha and allowing him to reposition him so that his legs bent over the edge of the bed. He dragged his toes along the floor and looked uncertain, for once dropping the whole pissed off, sulky mask he'd worn for days on end.

Misha stood up, his fingers sliding along the younger's arm until he could wrap them around his wrist. Jensen took a hold of his hand in turn and looked up at him, questioning. Misha smiled crookedly, the tone of his expression tired but carefully excited, a little nervous perhaps - he reached to take a hold of the male's other arm as well and pulled him up.  
The taller trembled on his feet, balancing himself onto Misha as soon as he figured he wasn't exactly fit to do that on his own, a fact that seemed to confuse him a lot. He fell pale again, possibly due to his blood pressure shifting or from pain.  
"Are you okay?" the older asked seriously.

"Yeah," Jensen breathed out, dismissive, "You sound like Castiel right now."

Misha chuckled.  
"Danneel's out, in case you didn't hear her leave - I'm sure you did. I'd imagine she'd be surprised to find you from the kitchen when she comes back. I'd even go as far as to guess it might make her day. So I suggest we head there."

Jensen shifted, laid a hand on the older's shoulder.  
"How long do we have?" he asked cautiously.

"Forty minutes or so," Misha replied patiently, "We have time."

"Right. I - I don't think this is going to be easy. Fuck, man, you know the saying about your feet feeling like boiled spaghetti? Mine literally feel like that right now. This is  _not_  what I expected."

Misha brought his arm under Jensen's and around his back, holding him steady against himself. He let out a small laugh and shook his head.  
"You've been in bed for how long exactly, and you imagined you'd just climb out one day and go about your business like nothing ever happened? Yeah, it's going to be hard. Gives you something to do, anyway."

"Man... getting back in shape will be a major pain."

"Worry about that later."

Crossing the room was the hardest part, as Jensen seemed to have lost track of his limbs entirely. Remapping them didn't take too long for him however, and the corridor was easier. The final few feet across the living room and into the kitchen were hard again, mostly because the younger ran out of energy and leaned heavily upon Misha, who worked both to balance him and move him at the same time. They were both sweaty at the point where Jensen finally sat down by the table. He leaned his head down carefully, resting it upon his crossed arms and panting heavily.  
Misha laid his hand between the man's shoulderblades and held it there for comfort.  
"You did really well."

"Eh. I walked across my own house. What a heroic achievement."

"It was. Do you want water?"

Jensen straightened up slowly, looking around the kitchen, seemingly recalling the order of it and where everything was, or perhaps what it was for in the first place. Then he grimaced.  
"Not really," he replied, "but I suppose you're not giving me beer either."

"Nope."

"Okay. Coffee, then. And some water. Yeah."

For the first time in a while, their eyes met and they both smiled. The connection they shared was one between people who had just overcome a great obstacle and won a battle neither had really believed was one worth fighting through.

 

*

 

"He went through something awful, Misha."  
Danneel had carelessly tied her hair back. She wore a loose shirt and a ragged pair of jeans, neither really complimented her spectacular looks, and she didn't even have make-up on. For a woman usually so well dressed, that was a striking, alarming sign.  
Misha watched her baby instead, the tiny hands that reached for her necklace in particular. The small, chubby fingers grasped at it as it hung above her delicate face, never really catching onto it. She had a spot on her cheek, one that could either be dirt, a birth mark or a developing freckle. Secretly, Misha hoped it was a freckle.

"That was part the reason I burned the letters. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to read it. I didn't want it laid out in intimate detail on papers anyone could find. I wanted him to tell me, but I didn't want to know. Does that even make any sense to you?"  
  
Misha nodded. He had experience on that.  
"Yeah."

"So what the hell can I do? I can't undo what happened to him. I can't help how he feels. What the fuck can I do?"

"You're doing a lot."  
  
"I'm not. I'm being a bitch. I'm avoiding him, the only thing we ever do is argue. He tried to kill himself and I should be there  _for_  him, but instead, I keep wanting to walk out on him, and sometimes I feel like I really, really hate him and nothing else. I'm afraid I've stopped loving him when he needs me the most."  
She adjusted herself, brushed off a tear and looked away.  
"I was so happy when you got him out of there. I wouldn't even have tried. I... didn't even think of trying. I'm so used to having him in the wheelchair, like I don't even care if he ever walks again."

"He will. Danneel - I don't know what you're going through, not really, because Vicki has never been a state like his. She has been through a lot, though, and there have been times I've really questioned what I want. The same goes for her, I'd imagine, I've been through my share of rough patches as well. The point I'm trying to make is that we still love each other, you know? We never stopped. And we've argued a lot. We had already decided to break up at one point, but before it happened, we realised that's not what we really want. You clearly love him. He's just not returning that to you because he has so much to deal with on his own right now. It's not that you hate him, I think - I think you're just afraid. And that's okay. That's inevitable."

The woman lowered her gaze again. Her finger traced the baby's nose and her tiny lips and she sobbed, trying to hide it by clearing her throat. Then she leaned back and gave up, covering her face with her free hand and letting the tears flow. The child was disgruntled by the loss of the pendant hanging above her and whined.  
The sound seemed to shake her somewhat and she pulled the baby close to her, hiding her face into her clothes instead.

"I love him," she whispered, "And last night I just wanted him to die so I wouldn't have to fear that one day - one day, I'd..."

"Yeah. I know."

"I'm a horrible human being. I'm the worst wife for him. I hate myself."  
  
"Don't. Danneel, you mean everything to him. For someone going through so much at once, you're being really, really brave and strong right now. I mean it, I'm not just saying it. You're still here, for one."  
  
"I'm trying. I don't feel I'm doing good at all."  
  
"You're doing everything you can."

Danneel wiped her face again, leaving red streaks on her skin. She looked at Misha with a hurt, lost expression that burned at the man's chest.  
"Misha? I don't think I'm what he needs."

"You are."

"Are you sure? What - what did he write you?"

Misha hesitated.  
"If you're talking about that, then yes, he told me."

"And what - do you - I mean..."  
  
"I'm not coming between the two of you."

 

*

 

"For someone so threatened by me, she sure is handling her emotions pretty well."  
Misha raised his glass of whiskey and hoped it'd wash down the bitterness in his mouth. It did not. Vicki reached for hers with a crooked smile on her lips.

"She's an amazing woman. So, she knows, then?"  
  
"Yeah."  
He poured more into his glass and sipped.  
"I think he told her in the letter. He also told her a fuckton more and I can't seem to figure out what was in it, not even with all this evidence laid in front of me. And he isn't telling."

"You probably don't want to know."  
  
"No, I definitely don't. But I need to, you know?"

"Yeah."

Vicki drank a large gulp out of her glass before looking at Misha again, and when she did, her smile had a new tone to it.  
"I heard what you did today. That's quite an achievement."

"He wanted out."  
  
"Yes, but still. You know, sometimes I feel like I married the world's kindest, most generous man. Today's one of those days."  
  
"I've built an orphanage, Vicki, getting Jensen out his own bedroom is hardly comparable."  
  
"Are you complimenting yourself right now?"  
  
Misha huffed.  
"No, I am not. I'm saying that I don't really deserve any praise. I haven't done anything for him yet. I don't even know if I can."

Vicki rolled her eyes.  
"Of course you can."  
She crossed her legs and glanced over her shoulder - Misha didn't know what she looked at, but it didn't seem important, as she soon turned back again and faced him with a serious expression.  
"What will you do about it?"

"About what?"  
  
"Don't play stupid with me. About Jensen's feelings."  
  
"The hell if I know? Vicki, he's a mess. I don't feel I can contribute. Clearly Danneel isn't in a place to deal with it either, she feels she's not good enough for him and if I stepped in, it would only confirm she isn't 'what he needs' as she put it herself."

"What if I talk to her?"  
  
Misha gaped. He didn't know what to say or think. Today was full of people questioning him about the subject he'd done his darnest not to think about yet, because he knew better than to make decisions in an unstable situation such as this. Yet even Vicki seemed to think he should go for it, and Danneel's reaction had confirmed she  _expected_  him to. It was like nobody around him was questioning how he felt about it, that maybe he didn't want to stick his spoon into this particular can of worms.

Did he?  
He didn't know.  
That was precisely the point in not having thought about it yet. He hadn't made up his mind and he didn't know what he wanted, because the current situation did not offer him certainty.

"Why would you do that?" he asked in a confused, mildly annoyed tone of voice.

"Because you love him, Misha, and it drives me crazy to sit by and watch you do nothing about it. That's why I would do it."

"Vicki what the fuck?"

His reaction prompted a laugh from the woman. He didn't get what was so funny - he was genuinely confused.  
"No, shut the fuck up, I'm serious. What the hell?"

"Are you really that thick? I know you're not. Just... God, Misha, I don't know what to say to you if you don't get it."  
She drank her glass empty and got up.  
"Think about it. I'm taking a shower and then we're having sex."

"And what if I'm not in the mood?"  
  
"Oh, you will be."

 

*

 

"We need to talk."  
Misha sat on the bed again, patted the spot next to him and watched as Jensen uncurled, sat up and moved to sit there instead.

"About what today?"  
His voice was strained, nervous. That always happened when someone, anyone, said the words that had just fallen off Misha's tongue. They spelled doom, nothing good ever came of them.

"About your letters."

Jensen sighed. He pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around them instinctively as a response to the older's words, to protect himself from whatever would come next.  
"Did you finally start missing your shirt?"  
Misha didn't even bother to attempt a smile.  
"No. You can keep that," he spoke instead.

To his surprise, the younger leaned in - the pose he'd taken made it rather comical, because he more of fell against Misha than anything else. The older hesitated, then brought an arm around him and held him close, allowing him a moment of quiet before beginning.  
"Do you have any idea of how I would have felt if you'd died, and those two pages would be all that was left of you for me?"

He felt the male tensing up. He didn't get an answer, nor had he expected one.  
"Can you think back to that and imagine how it felt to me to read that while you were in the hospital and I knew you probably weren't going to survive?"  
His fingers were straying - suddenly he felt Jensen's hair over his fingertips and realised he was stroking him gently behind the ear. He wasn't sure if this undermined the message he was trying to send or if it merely made the situation confusing, but one thing was for sure: it definitely wasn't helping. Yet he didn't want to stop either. He wanted to keep on, so he did. A warm feeling leaked in his chest when Jensen clearly without intending to do so bucked his head to the touch, begging for more.

"You didn't give me reasons. You apologised for the strangest things. Then, skip to the next page, you got to one of the points you were trying to make all along and slapped me in the face with a confession that you loved me. Imagine you had died, and that was everything that was left for me? Do you understand what it looked like to me, without the context? No, what it  _still_  looks like to me, Jensen?"

The younger swallowed, held his breath and then let it out. The flow wavered, cut off and kept on quietly as if he was pointlessly trying to hide the fact he was breathing.  
"This is not a rhetorical question, so please give me an answer."

Jensen's hand slipped from on top the other and onto Misha's lap instead. Firmly, the older picked it up and returned it to Jensen's space. His support for the younger now had firm limitations, and physical touch such as that was strictly out of question.

"Shit, Misha - I didn't mean to say it was your fault. Fuck, I didn't even think -"  
  
"Yeah, you clearly didn't. I got that much. Thought you wouldn't pull a dick move like that but you know what? Suicide is a dick move. So that point was void. You already pulled one so why the fuck should I trust you to not actually mean what was so obviously the point?"

Jensen pushed away from him. He turned around with some difficulty, reached his hand and laid it over Misha's cheek, holding his head still for an eye contact that he clearly feared Misha would deny him, even though that was never an option for the older. He wouldn't have broken it - direct contact was everything he wanted from the conversation.  
"It was  _not_  your fault. What I..."  
The younger seemed to choke on his words. Slowly, he lifted his hand over against his head and looked like he was about to throw up. Misha took his other hand and held it, not sure what he was supposed to do or what was even happening, if it was a reaction to what he felt or a sign of something being wrong with his injury. Just when he was about to ask if the other needed to go to the hospital, Jensen returned his hand down and blinked, clearly rewinding back to what he'd been saying before. Then he raised his eyes again and looked at Misha. Tears had built up at the corners of his eyes and the older still didn't know whether they were from emotion or physical pain.

"What I feel for you wasn't a factor. Not... in itself, anyway, I mean I did feel ten kinds of guilty over it and I guess, in a way, that... but I never meant to imply you were... shit, I'm so sorry, I'm  _so_ sorry. Fuck. Shit, Misha, really, I..."

"Shut up."  
Misha's voice was much gentler than the words he spoke.  
"Do you see it now? If you had died, it wouldn't have taken long for me to actually blame myself for it, and guess what? It would have fucking ruined me."

He saw the exact kind of hesitation he'd been aiming for on the other's face, and the shifts in the man's pose that he never actually pulled through only added to the satisfaction. He'd gotten his point across. That had been easy enough.  
"You even said I made you  _doubt_  killing yourself. You fucker - I had no idea you were going to do it. If I had, I would have fucking chained you to a fucking chair and made sure you don't hurt yourself or anyone else. That only made everything worse for me, can you see that? To know I could have made a difference but was too fucking stupid to do it?"

"I..."

"Yeah. Fuck you, Jensen. I don't know how the fuck I can ever look at you the same after this, but I'm doing my part. I didn't walk out. I'm here for you. So can you please take some fucking responsibility and do your part?"

"Misha? Misha, stop."  
His voice trembled and he wasn't looking at the older anymore.

"No."  
Misha grabbed his chin and tried to force him to look back at him, but he tensed up and refused - his eyes widened in pain and Misha let him go, momentarily stunned by fear he'd hurt him. Jensen raised his hand to rub at his neck and grimaced, one tear finally falling from his eye and down. Other than that, he seemed to be just fine.

"I'm sorry," Misha attempted, but it sounded weak and stupid in his own ears and the end of it faded to be nearly inaudible.

"No, just... just listen, okay? I made a big fucking mistake. I get that. But - I can't take the blame forever. Right now, I don't feel like anyone wants me alive. I honestly feel like I would be better off dead, I want to be dead, I don't have a single fucking reason to live. I need to hear something good - can you tell me I did something right? That I'm not a worthless piece of shit that only hurts everyone around him? That I don't deserve to die?"

Something triggered inside the older. He wrapped his arms around the trembling man in front of him and pulled him close, right onto himself as Jensen didn't put up a fight, just fell forwards until he was against Misha's chest. Clumsily he moved his hands until he could lean somewhere and regain some control over how exactly he laid there, but he didn't pull away nor did he seem bothered and instead he gave in and allowed Misha to hold him. His tears wet the front of Misha's shirt as quietly as always, and from the way he felt, his expression was most likely blank.  
Misha pressed his face against the top of the younger's head, awkwardly aiming for the area at front that wasn't scarred and probably didn't hurt, yet he kept the pressure minimal anyway to protect what he could.  
"You don't deserve to die and I need you to live. Jensen, I don't understand how you don't see it, but you're an amazing man, a great husband, you'll be the best dad for your princess and have a whole career in front of you. You've done nothing you'd deserve to die for, and if you choose to live, you can give so much to people who have it just as bad or worse than you do. You have so much potential - you can be happy. I don't know what happened to you but I'm sorry it did. I know you're strong enough to pull through, but nobody does that alone. I'm sorry I've hurt you, I'm sorry I didn't see how deep you were, I'm sorry I didn't notice when you needed me the most. I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

"I need you, Misha."  
  
"I know."  
Misha swallowed, tried to keep his voice stable - his tears were wetting the other's short, soft hair trapped under his chin.  
"I need you too."

"Don't give up on me. Don't leave me alone. I can't take that."  
  
"I won't. I never meant to, either. You don't have to fear that. You just... you just need to respect what I do."  
  
"I do."  
  
"Then show it. Then fucking  _live_."

 

*

 

Jensen ate with them. His appetite was as good as gone, but he did it because he wanted to, and while it did turn the situation somewhat strained, the bottom line was that everyone was positively surprised by it. Danneel got him to stay in the living room and they watched a movie, during which he conveniently fell asleep - his pain medication was still high enough to make him constantly tired, so that surprised no one at all.

Vicki dropped by to pick Misha up, but her visit stretched quite long as they decided it was a good idea to take the kids to the nearby park. Meanwhile, Jensen woke up and Misha spent a good long while trying to convince him that it hadn't bothered them that he slept.

Truth was, he was a little nervous about the women heading off by themselves. Despite what he'd said, he knew Vicki was going to talk to Danneel, and there wasn't much he could do about it. She could be doing it right there and then, or she could be saving it for later, but she would do it, if for nothing else then just to make sure Danneel didn't view Misha as a threat anymore.  
Either way, the fact kept dragging his thoughts back to the topic he was still decisively avoiding, and the more he thought of it, the less he could look at Jensen without wanting to cross the line. The temptation wasn't even a minor nuisance anymore, it was a pressing need that only grew worse the more he spent time with the other, and it was like an ache that ate him from the inside when Jensen touched him or looked at him or smiled. The more he reminded him of the Jensen he knew, the more he wanted to forget all the rules and all the restrictions and just make love to him, show him exactly how important he was, and how attractive Misha still found him despite the difficulties they faced.

And on the topic of attractiveness, the older had noticed Jensen was convinced he was too ugly to look at now. He not only avoided looking into mirrors, he actively refused to see his reflection anywhere. The issue was that he didn't look any worse than before. His hair was shorter and the wounds were still healing and therefore swollen and visible, but they would even out and his hair would fully cover them, nobody would see them from further away, only if they were very close and looking for them. He avoided touching the area, and while at first Misha had thought it was mostly because he didn't want any bacteria in them or just because they hurt, now it was becoming more clear it was because they disgusted him.

 

*

 

"I want him."  
He'd said it.

West crawled under the table and poked his foot with a pen, leaving a black spot behind. He crawled on, stood up and ran off. Neither Vicki nor Misha really cared, which meant he would be back with something more annoying than a marker with him. Possibly something loud or painful. He wanted attention.

"Well, finally," Vicki replied with a sigh, turning over the page of the newspaper in front of her.  
She lifted her cup of coffee over to her mouth and drank. Her indifference was frustrating.

"That's all you've got?"  
  
"Yeah."  
The woman raised her head, brushed back her dark hair and watched West scribble something over by the table. Her eyes measured the danger present to the furniture and judged it minimal - the paper was thick enough.  
"So, do you want me to bring it up with Danneel?"

"I don't know."  
  
"Decide."  
She drank her coffee again and returned to reading the paper. Silence reigned for an unnatural while, only broken by West's huffs and sighs and quiet muttering as he leaned further over the paper.  
He was clearly the center of his own world.

Vicki bit her lip in a manner that was both very familiar and arousing to Misha - he watched her and felt his heartbeat grow faster and his breathing turn heavy and shallow. After a moment, she raised her head to stare at him unimpressedly.  
"Really?" she huffed.  
The corner of Misha's mouth twitched up in a semi-apologetic manner.  
"Why do you find that so fucking arousing?"

He shrugged.  
"You look... academic."

"No. I need to get going soon. Can't afford another shower, so you just have to deal with it."

They both smiled.

"Okay," Vicki said after a while, finished her coffee and closed the paper, "I'll be back before four and hopefully Danneel will want to talk with me soon after. Can you pick up some groceries while I'm out?"  
  
"Sure."

Misha heard her humming a pop tune while she tied her shoes and walked out. He really wondered how she managed all that energy when most the time he felt he had none left for himself.

 

*

 

Danneel let him in and looked him in the eye in a manner that stopped him on his tracks. He didn't know if he was welcome to take off his shoes, so he did not. He watched her and hesitated. She stared at him for a long while without saying anything, the summer air slipping in past them through the partially open door that Misha suspected he'd be leaving through soon enough.  
Instead, she pushed him aside, put on her shoes and stepped on the porch before turning back around to look at him again.

"Make him smile," she said and turned to leave.

Misha called after her but she just waved, leaving him standing there confused and conflicted. After a minute or so he closed the door and took off his shoes, heading towards the bedroom barefooted. The window was open again and the curtains were shifting quietly in the gentle wind. Jensen had a book open in front of him that he closed when Misha entered the room - he raised his eyes to him and smiled. Misha didn't find it in him to return it.

"The hell?" he asked, hopped on the double bed and crossed his legs under him.

"Danneel?"

"Yeah."  
  
"I don't know, man."  
Jensen shifted, stretched his legs and bent his neck. By the looks of it, it was painfully tense and hardly moved. He rubbed at it absently for a moment, then the smile returned on his face and he chuckled quietly.  
"You probably don't want to know this, but we had amazing sex last night."

Misha raised his brows.  
"Really?"

"Yeah."

The older let out a huff and tilted his head.  
"I was cockblocked by work."

"Damn, man."  
  
"Yeah. Well, good for you."

"Thanks."

Jensen rubbed at his arm, clearly a little embarrassed at what he'd just said - he clearly wasn't sure if they were okay enough to discuss sex. Misha reached out to him and brushed his cheek to catch his attention, and he got it alright. The taller's bright eyes seemed surprised and expecting as he looked up at Misha, but when it became clear to him that there wasn't anything he was going to say in particular, he relaxed again.  
"Did she say anything to you at all?" he asked after a while, looking down at his hands again.

Misha let out an uncertain sound.  
"Yeah, she told me to make you smile. I already did so I don't know what the hell she meant by that."

The manner Jensen raised his eyes again was unnerving to say at least. His lips parted slightly and he seemed at loss for words.  
"What did you say?"

"I said she - what?"

"What?"

"What!?"

They were both confused now. Finally Jensen drew breath and chuckled awkwardly.  
"Okay, Mish, I think I need to call her. Can you give me a minute of privacy?"  
  
"Sure - I'll just... go eat your food, I'm starving."  
  
"Sure, okay."

They shared a still baffled look with each other as Jensen reached for his phone, and when Misha left the room, he felt like he was missing something big time.  
He also felt unnecessarily excited and anxious, the sort of a combination that happened when something big was happening, and when the big wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He closed the door behind him and wandered off to the kitchen, pulled out his phone and called Victoria. She answered while he was absently chewing on a chocolate chip cookie from the bowl left out on the kitchen table, and in the expecting silence that followed, Misha didn't know what he was going to say.  
"What did you say to Danneel?"

"Oh, did something happen?"  
  
"She - I don't know, Vic, she came to the door and let me in and told me to make him smile and left, and I really don't know what kind of a mood she was in, she seemed pretty... I don't know how to put it. Strained?"

"She's nervous, that's all."

"Nervous about what? Jesus Christ, why won't anyone tell me what the hell is going on? Please, stop fucking around and tell me what you spoke."  
The way Vicki laughed was both nerve-wrecking and so genuinely cheerful that it made him feel a little better, despite all frustration he was bottling up at the moment.

"I thought she was going to tell you, but I guess not," Vicki finally sighed, "Or then that is her version of 'go right ahead', in which case I feel for you."

"Oh, come on now. Get to the point."  
  
"The point is that after I convinced her that you won't be stealing her husband, she admitted she sort of wants to, uh, 'share' Jensen with you, because you make him happy and, let me quote again, 'it's kind of sexy'. She went right on and said she feels so guilty about talking of him like this the way he is right now, but that she also thinks it'd do Jensen a great deal of good if you'd sleep with him, because you seem to make him feel so much better by just being there with him already. Are you following?"  
  
"I'm confused."  
  
"Don't be. Where's Jensen?"  
  
"Talking with Danneel on the phone."  
  
"Stop calling people. Bye."  
She ended the call. Misha raised a brow at the blackening screen of his phone before tugging it back in his pocket. That had to be one of the strangest phone calls he'd ever made, and he'd made plenty. Hesitantly he returned to the bedroom and knocked on the door. He heard Jensen's voice, he was still talking with Danneel, and instead of going inside he leaned to the wall and tried not to listen. Minutes passed. Finally he heard Jensen's voice calling his name - he entered the room about as confused as he'd left it.

"What did she say?"  
  
"This is weird, Misha."

"Yeah, I know. But what did she say?" Misha insisted, sitting down on the bed next to Jensen.

"She, uh. She said she and Vicki had talked, and that - well - if I want you, and you want - well - that it's alright with her. Is this supposed to be this fucking awkward? You've done this before, haven't you?"  
  
"I have. And no, this is not how it's supposed to go. We should all have sat down at some point to just talk, but you know what? I haven't been in the mood for talking about this. You haven't been in the mood to talk about anything. I honestly don't think this is a good idea."  
  
Jensen nodded slowly.  
"I did not expect to talk like this with you, or anyone. I'd feel like... I don't know. I'd feel like I'm cheating on her, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I don't even know how you feel. About me. You haven't told me. You said you don't know."

Misha sighed. He looked out the window and saw the blue sky. The heat was growing unbearable and he realised he was hoping for rain.  
"I said I would have had ten answers ready for you before."

"Do you have one now?"  
The younger's voice sounded nervous and strained. Misha looked at him and measured him and the state they were in, the situation and everything Vicki had said, everything he'd heard Danneel say, and weighted that all for a moment.

Finally, he nodded.  
"I do."  
He licked his lips and turned to the window.  
"Although I'm not sure of the question anymore."

"The question? Really?"  
Jensen raised a brow at him. He was wearing Dean's shirt, it even smelled of the set as Misha noticed when Jensen shifted and leaned closer.

"I don't think there ever was a question, not a specific one anyway. But since I have the gist of it, yes, Jensen, the answer is yes. I still don't know what we should do about it, but for what it's worth..."  
Misha turned to look at him, just to make sure he believed him.  
"I love you, in every way imaginable. Now, I'm going to make one more phone call, and then we'll talk."

 

*

 

Danneel sighed. She was eating something, and in the background Misha could hear the noise of a crowd.  
"Okay, I can't say I didn't expect you to call, but my phone's been ringing nonstop today and... really."

"No, I'm not letting you out of this that easy. I just need to make sure you know what you're signing into. Because I doubt that, mostly because you haven't spoken with me yet. Letting you know you're on speaker, tell me if it's hard to hear what I say and I'll put it off."

"Jensen's there?"  
  
Jensen shifted.  
"Yeah, I'm just eavesdropping," he reported in.

Danneel made a sound that could have been a chuckle or a sigh.  
"Do you ever get tired of my voice?"

"Never, baby."  
Jensen's smile was warm. Misha felt lost in it.

"Okay, so what is it? My dinner's going to be here in ten minutes, so make it quick."  
The most comforting aspect so far was the fact that Misha could hear Danneel's smile in her voice. He didn't know what had happened between the two the night before but something had clearly fallen back in place.

"How much can you say aloud?"  
  
"Nothing. But I can say everything quietly."

"Okay," Misha chuckled.  
He shared a brief eye contact with Jensen, who was smirking with the distinctive look of a man who was head over heels in love.  
"So, first off, you know why I'm calling you."

"Yes. You're calling me because you don't want second hand permissions to fuck my hubby, and I get that. Here's your first-hand premission. Status, given."

"Good, great. We still have a problem, though. The fact is that I'm friends with your husband and we work together, and he's in love with me. I'm not going to be just fucking him if we get there, Danneel."

Jensen's hands tightened into loose fists in a nervous fashion. He shifted and huffed, and Misha could almost hear his heartbeat to where he sat. He looked him in the eye to make sure he was okay with what he'd just said, and Jensen nodded briefly.

"Vicki explained it to me," Danneel said calmly, "I'm aware of that. I do think you are what Jensen needs."  
  
"You can't be perfectly alright with all of this, and you don't need to pretend you are. Everyone has something they doubt," Misha prompted her on.

Jensen shifted again. He rubbed at his temples carefully, eyes examining the phone in lack for better purpose.

"Well, you know what I fear. That I'm not good for him."  
  
"Baby?" Jensen started.  
Misha's eyes were on him - this was Jensen's conversation to have, not his, and he was glad the younger had chosen to speak.  
"You remember why I married you?"

Danneel hesitated.

"C'mon, baby."

She drew breath and then let it out in a nervous huff that threatened to break the phone's speaker.  
"Yes. I do."

"Then why would you think something like that? You'll never be less to me. Never. If you think you're doing me a service, that you're not good enough and think that if I sleep with Misha it'll fill some need you couldn't, then you're wrong."

The question Danneel spoke came out so quiet they barely heard it from the noises in the background.  
"Then why do you love him?"

Misha licked his lips and leaned back. This was the thing he'd needed to dig out of her. That kind of insecurity was a dealbreaker, because it never died out. It grew in silence and broke the relationship.  
Jensen looked at him and breathed slowly in and out for a couple times before his eyes strayed back towards the phone.  
"Because he's Misha. I don't have a reason. He doesn't have anything you lack, baby. I'm not in love with him because you're not good enough. You're perfect, you really are. I love you. I don't love you any less than before - actually, I'm pretty sure I love you more than ever, D. I love him different, I can't really explain it, but there is nothing wrong with you that has driven me into it or - or whatever it is you're thinking."

Misha fell on his back on the bed. His heart was drumming against his ribs but all he really wanted to do was to raise his hands high above his head and applaud.  
Jensen looked at him somewhat alarmedly as the silence stretched, and Misha looked back at him and raised a finger up to his lips. Jensen nodded. He seemed to be holding his breath.

"So you just... you just fell in love with him. It just happened," Danneel finally confirmed.

"Yeah," Jensen replied, grinning nervously, "It's not like I went out looking for someone else. I don't want anyone else more than I want you, because you're my wife, Danneel, you really are the most important person in my life. You're the mother of my child for crying out loud. I can't press this enough but there is nothing wrong with you - you're my whole world."

"Crap," Danneel sighed, "and I already ordered the scotch."  
She laughed, and from her voice it was quite clear she was holding back her tears.  
"Okay. Listen, Jensen - Misha - I'm glad you called."

Misha pulled himself up again and leaned over the phone.  
"Yeah, me too. If you want to take some time, please."

"No, no, it's fine."  
She sniffed and laughed again.  
"Really, it's fine. We have a lot to talk about with him but I don't think this is an issue anymore. I think - I think things from now on - will be better."

Jensen pursed his lips and creased his brows, and Misha gave him space to say whatever he was about to say if he'd come to the conclusion he wanted to - in a moment, he did.  
"Baby - when you get home - when you feel like it, we - I think we should maybe, you know, talk about the thing."

"Yeah," Danneel sighed, "We should. Baby, my food's here. I really have to go now. Have fun."

"Danneel?" Misha charged in before she could hang up.

"Yes?"

"If you have second thoughts about anything - anything - just call me, or Vicki if it's easier for you. Anything at all. That's really the most important thing. Even if it's 3am, I want to hear it."

"Okay. Thank you, Misha."  
After brief noises, the call ended. Misha raised his eyes to Jensen and Jensen looked back at him, and there was a change in the atmosphere between them, the tension was lifted and it was replaced with the clumsy acknowledgement of freedom and the uncertainty of how to proceed from there on.

"You wrote in the letter that you like it when I kiss your neck?" Misha finally began.  
Jensen's lips parted fast and he almost said something, then decided against it and blushed instead. He had that beautiful shy smile on his face that Misha hadn't seen in a while. With cold fingers the older picked the phone from the mattress and laid it on the bedside table instead. Then he laid a hand on the other's shoulder and looked him in the eye - Jensen looked back nervously, but he leaned closer until their foreheads touched, so the nervousness couldn't have been the negative sort.  
They breathed in each other's scents, and Misha knew the younger was waiting for him to show him how to do this because he was the one with experience, as if the rules somehow differed from the usual. They didn't, and that was a thing Jensen would catch up on fast.

Slowly as he felt his friend relaxing to the touch, Misha moved lower until he was breathing against the man's neck, and after giving him a second to adjust, he kissed him there right below the jaw, feeling his stubble prickle against his lips until he'd moved far back enough for the skin to be clear again. He kissed him behind the ear and trailed along the side of his neck towards the back, stopping at the point he'd already learned was the most sensitive one, and for the first time kissed it with both the permission and intent to arouse the younger. Jensen tensed up a little - a small sound escaped his lips and he shivered. He bent his neck back and huffed when the muscles refused to turn further.  
He took Misha's hand and brought it over his chest, just above his heart so that Misha could feel it beating against his palm.

He only pulled back when his lips had started growing numb and the younger's whole neck from both sides was slippery and sticky with his saliva - the only sound his ears cared to concentrate on was the sound of Jensen's heavy breathing.  
"Did I make you feel beautiful?" he asked quietly with a hint of a smile in the tone.  
The taller nodded, opening his eyes slowly to see him, and it appeared that he was seeing him in a whole new light now.  
"More than just that," Jensen replied breathlessly.

His fingers wrapped around Misha's short hair and pulled him close until their lips met, and his kiss was needy and rough like he was afraid the older would pull back and tell him to stop, that he'd need to take it all now or he'd never have it. Misha couldn't help smiling into it. He answered the demanding moves of the other's mouth in a much calmer pace as if making fun of his desperation.  
The kiss went on until Jensen's lips slipped off his to let him draw in air, and because of the aggressiveness of his kiss he had to gasp to get enough in at once. Misha laughed at him, and the sound of that made him smile too.

"Take it easy," Misha muttered, drawing him back into the kiss by placing his hand gently on the back of his neck, "You're still in a pretty bad shape."

Jensen bit at his lower lip and pulled back, but not before he'd rubbed their noses together in such a disgustingly sweet manner that it prompted a surprised chuckle out of the older.  
"Don't throw me off the bed and we'll be okay."

 

*

 

The younger's body was warm and all too real under Misha's when he pressed him down against the soft bed and leaned down to kiss at his chest and stomach. The sounds he made were quiet but rough and as needy as his first kiss had been, and each of them sent shivers down Misha's spine. He tried to contain himself and stay calm and take his time, pay attention to all parts of the beautiful body he had all for himself now, but the more he got into it the less patience he had - Jensen had that kind of an effect on him, had always had. He had an aura that trapped him inside and filled him with ideas he just had to pull through, thoughts and wants and wishes he wasn't able to resist. He'd wanted to find out how the man's freckled skin tasted like, and it tasted fresh. He'd wanted to find out how he reacted to kisses on his thighs; his hips bucked up and the sounds he made were glorious, the words he spoke undecipherable but their message quite clear enough. He'd wanted to know if there was any spot on his body that was in fact ticklish, but he'd found none. The closest he got was when he dragged his tongue along the man's ribs and got a shocked twitch as a reaction. It had to do, because anything else wasn't working either.

Jensen reacted mixedly to nipple stimulation; the act seemed to embarrass him, but at the same time, he was clearly sensitive to it and as Misha played around them with his tongue, he kept pushing his hips up and grinding them against his thigh.

He wasn't just lying there expecting to be pleased, either. Misha enjoyed his touches while he played the active part, and whenever he could spare a hand, he guided the younger to places he enjoyed being touched and showed him just how, and the way Jensen improvised right from that point on blew his mind over and over again. He was very accurate whenever he took a guess and went for it, his fingers and palms finding just the right tracks along the shorter's body as Misha made sure to never stop exploring his at the same time.  
When they laid face to face, bodies rocking together in a feverish yet still unrefined and clumsy manner, Jensen liked pulling him down so that he could bite his shoulders and the base of his neck - Misha didn't complain, he'd have something to show back home and nobody to hide from.  
In return, he left some marks on the younger's lower body; a hickey on his side, another on his chest, and finally one on his hip. He didn't suck hard, but he sucked long enough: he knew the aching sort of pain that resulted from that, and while he hated it on himself, Jensen seemed to be turned on by it. Clearly he didn't only like biting, he liked being bitten, and for that reason alone it was sort of a blessing he wouldn't be getting out anytime soon.

"Will Danneel be okay with this?" Misha asked, nipping at the sensitive skin on his neck to press the point.

Jensen couldn't provide him with a verbal answer, but his nod was clear enough. He let out a wavering moan as the older bit him there, just hard enough to leave a light bruise.  
His hips pressed against Misha's and his hand slipped between them, grabbing them both with a determination that halted the older's breathing for a good moment, relieving him of his patience as well and rewarding Jensen with a deep purple bruise on the back of his neck as a result.

The fine hair all over his body stood up as he massaged their lengths together and their moans mixed together until it sounded like they were trying to top one another's voice in a contest, while in truth neither of them really had much of an idea of exactly how much noise they were making. Release came as a welcome relief but washed over Misha like a tidal wave, he could barely aim where he dropped down afterwards. He felt his cock slipping out of Jensen's grip, felt the slippery wetness on the other's fingers and cock, knowing only half of it was his own. He let out an exhausted, pleased grunt and pushed the man's fingers from around his length, taking over the job himself and jerking him until he came with a loud groan, his body rocking into Misha's grip in a weary but heated, instinctual motion.

His back arched for one last time before he fell back down on the bed and just breathed, breathed, breathed - he smelled strongly of his unique scent and Misha pushed his nose against his shoulder to get even closer to that smell. He breathed in deep until it was imprinted in his memory. He reached an arm around the younger and listened to him fall asleep next to him, soon after falling asleep himself, full of thoughts and emotions that clashed together like waves crashing against a rocky shoreline.

 

*

 

**Epilogue**

Jensen laid his hands on the Impala's hood and slid down along it until he was lying on his stomach on the black metal. He turned around and crossed his arms on his chest, lifted his foot on the bumper and let out a satisfied grunt. Jared sat down on the hood next to him and pulled his shirt back down, covering his exposed stomach for convenience. Some lone raindrops were falling here and there, one splashing on the bridge of Misha's nose and exploding all over his face.  
He brushed it off and pulled Castiel's trench coat tighter around his body to fend off the cold.

"I didn't really believe I'd ever be back here, you know? Much less as Dean, like at most maybe visiting."  
Jensen covered up his emotions well enough - his tone was deceivingly carefree. For no reason, however, as both Jared and Misha knew exactly how he truly felt about being back and just how much he'd feared the opposite. He'd fervently gone through the recovery to get back in shape as soon as he could. He truly had had a miracle recovery: he'd suffered so little permanent damage it didn't prevent him from doing his job, even if his ability to pull off action scenes on his own was now strictly limited, which of course interfered especially with his ability to work on his current role. He'd been more than welcome to return as soon as it had become clear he could, in fact, still perform just fine on almost any other scene.

Alcohol made it difficult for him to speak, but he didn't seem to mind all too much. He'd joked it helped him to cut drinking and concentrate on doing something productive instead, but truth was, after everything he'd finally realised how lucky he was to be able to speak at all, much less as well as he did so soon with practically no therapy at all to patch up what he had lost. With proper care, it was entirely likely nobody would ever notice the delays or the minor slurring on some words, especially those requiring more complex control of his tongue, as those seemed to challenge him the most.

Misha loved watching him now that they were back on set. So much that he hadn't even noticed had not been there was flooding back into Jensen, especially the way he laughed and shouted and interacted with the crew members. Those were the little things that had always really made him Jensen, and now that they were back, he was perfect again.

"Yeah, I guess it's kinda weird," Jared replied to the words he'd spoken.  
Jensen let out a satisfied little laugh and closed his eyes.

Of course, nothing else was perfect - not the way the press handled him, not the way the fans handled him (although it had to be said the care far overwhelmed the hate) and especially not the way his mental health was questioned by damn near everyone he interacted with now, but everything considered, he was taking it just fine.  
The best part was that it seemed to Misha that he'd finally started opening up more, at first to Danneel and then to him, and from there on to Jared too. He'd truly formed a support network for himself and it seemed to be the thing he'd needed the most, as with that, he was slowly getting better. For Misha, the best thing still wasn't seeing him at his work, it was seeing him with his family, with Danneel and their daughter and now with himself and his family as well, because it seemed that it was with them Jensen truly enjoyed the second chance he'd been given.  
He finally smiled like a man who'd learned to be thankful for what he had - and who'd learned to trust that he was, even with all his faults, worth something.


End file.
